


jingle bells, jingle bells

by Shana_Nakazawa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, disgusting amount of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3053981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shana_Nakazawa/pseuds/Shana_Nakazawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek reluctantly wakes up on Christmas Eve at three in the morning to a sulking, nineteen hours timezone apart Stiles calling him. Just when he thinks his stupid yet adorable boyfriend has done the best to drive him nuts, Stiles just has to still have something up his sleeves.</p><p>“Hey, let’s bake.”</p><p>“… <i>What</i>?”</p><p>(Or, in which Stiles and Derek are in a temporary long distance relationship, and because Stiles can't get a plane ticket to California before Christmas, he has to celebrate the special occasion without being on his beloved boyfriend's embrace.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	jingle bells, jingle bells

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be published on Christmas but I went on a vacation and I didn't have time to publish it on time. I already posted it on Tumblr, though, so this is kind of just a catch-up. The idea is stupid yet cute, and I just want to write LDR!Sterek. I don't know if I portray them well, but I just want to give some Christmas fluff to all Sterek shippers out there. Have a merry Christmas and holiday!

The truth is: Derek isn’t a morning person. He is also, predictably, not a predawn person. So when he’s woken up by a loud ring of his phone, he’s nothing but pissed. He doesn’t like waking up, especially being woken up by someone calling him at three in the morning after a tiring day of being dragged by the pack ladies to shop for the upcoming Christmas party.

His phone is still ringing stubbornly when he reaches over to get it, almost knocking over his alarm clock in the process. He presses the answer button.

“I don’t know about you, but it’s three in the morning here, Stiles, and I very much  _despise_  waking up around this time,” Derek says, gritting his teeth as he fights back a yawn. He doesn’t have to look at the caller ID to know who the hell would dare to call him when he’s having his beauty sleep.

“Well, it’s ten p.m. right here and I’m bored,” Stiles replies, matter-of-factly.

Derek groans. “Since when is being bored a justified reason to wake somebody up at fucking midnight?” he asks, hoping his tone can convey the death glare he’s currently doing to Stiles.

“Since I become your boyfriend, of course,” Stiles replies again, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” Derek breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. The good thing is his drowsiness is fading—well, that’s probably a bad thing, since he really needs a good eight hours sleep right now, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“Well maybe you didn’t read the terms of service thoroughly,” Stiles answers with a smug smirk.

Derek laughs at that. He knows he should be pissed. He  _is_  pissed, but after being Stiles’ boyfriend for quite some times, he gets used to his witty remarks. He even finds it amusing sometimes.

“Hi there, Der-bear. Not so pouty again, are you?” Stiles says with a giggle. He reminds Derek of Laura, which is not a really good thing, because Stiles’ similarity to Laura means double hell for Derek.

“So, I’m up. Thanks a lot for that. This better worth it,” Derek grumbles. He sits up and puts on his robe. He shivers a little due to the cold wind. Mother Nature beats his werewolf body heat by a slight margin.

Stiles, on the other side of the connection, is laughing. Derek smiles at the sound. He won’t admit it, but hearing Stiles’ laugh is more valuable than anything, especially since he can’t physically be beside Stiles. Fuck that stupid student exchange program.

“Skype?” Stiles suggests.

“Okay. See you in five,” Derek says before he hangs up.

Five minutes later, Derek is already staring at his boyfriend’s grinning face. The Alpha can’t help but smile. He’s been busy all week because of the Christmas party, and so does Stiles. They barely have time to contact each other. This is why Derek isn’t grumbling about his messed up sleeping schedule.

Derek spends more time than usual to admire every feature of Stiles’ face. He notices Stiles’ hair has gotten a bit longer. His eyes are still like this rich melted chocolate, Derek likes that. He sees Stiles’ moles on the side of his face, and he immediately misses tracing those moles, feeling the soft skin under his fingers. He sees Stiles’ lips, pink and a little chapped. He wants to kiss him—God, he’d give everything just to cup Stiles’ face with his hands and take him, to kiss him and taste the sweetness in his lips and mouth.

Not that Derek will ever admit it.

“Hello, Derek? Earth to Derek Hale, you’re with me?” Stiles says as he waves his hand. His voice snaps Derek. Now the werewolf hopes he isn’t drooling or anything. He won’t have any dignity left to save if that happens.

The first thing Derek can think of is, “So, how’re you?”

Stiles stares at him for three seconds before laughing again. “Really? We’re going the ‘I’m gonna ask about your condition and leaves the conversation as awkward as walking in on your son having his fun time’ road?” he raises his eyebrows.

Again, Derek shouldn’t be surprised of the words Stiles is capable of uttering. “Stiles, shut up,” he says.

Stiles wears his shit-eating grin again before replying, “If you really wanna know, I’m fine, save for the scorching hell that is Sydney. I’m still having troubles understanding what people are saying here; seriously, it’s worse than talking to Scott with food in his mouth when Allison is nearby. Also, my roommates are so noisy right now and I can’t sleep.”

“Is that all you want to report?” Derek teases.

“Ah, forgot one thing.” Stiles lays his head on his arm and smiles, his eyes drooping a little. “Day thirty eight and I still miss you as hell.”

Derek’s expression softens and he smiles. He rubs his hand to his laptop monitor where he can see Stiles’ cheek. “Same here, then.”

“My turn. How are you doing?” Stiles asks.

“The same,” Derek answers shortly.

Stiles lets out a laugh again. “Informative as usual, aren’t you?”

Derek grins. “Well, I’m okay. Allison, Lydia and Erica dragged me around town and practically drained my wallet for ‘party decorations.’ Jackson is still an asshole. Scott is still hung up on Allison. Isaac and Boyd are quiet, as usual, though they open up more. I just knew that Mrs. McCall made the best apple pie. Oh, and your dad always squints his eyes at me whenever we met. I think he has to repress an urge to shove me against a wall and threaten me a good time on how I should treat you with a gun loaded with a silver bullet filled with wolfsbane,” he answers.

Stiles whistles and says cheekily, “Wow, talkative. What’s gotten into you?”

“You,” Derek replies.

“Hopeless sourwolf,” Stiles murmurs. He smiles again, and Derek loves the little tinge of pink adoring his cheeks.

Derek doesn’t say anything after that, and neither does Stiles. They’re just staring at each other, relishing the moment of admiring every inch of their lover’s figure. Derek is nothing like a hopeless romantic; hell, he would rip someone’s throat out (“With my teeth,” he says) if they dared to say it to his face. But Stiles is a different case. He’s the irrationality in Derek’s normality.

“You’re beautiful,” Derek utters softly, staring at the twin brown orbs on the screen.

Stiles chuckles, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks. “Then thank God you’re smoking hot, ‘cause if not you’ll be overwhelmed by this Stilinski beauty,” the boy says.

Derek hums at that. He’s back at staring Stiles again. He just can’t get enough of his dear overactive, klutzy boy. He’s simply addicted to him. He gets more obsessed than this and he’ll be featured in the front page of the papers with a huge headline saying “Stalker Lurking on Beacon Hills; Teenagers (Especially Stilinskis) be Warned.”

“I really wish I’m there with you now, Der. Snuggling, drinking hot chocolate, watching reruns of Home Alone for a millionth time. Anything. Just with you,” Stiles murmurs. He heaves a sigh.

“Hey, you’ll come home in four days, remember? Just hold on until then,” Derek immediately speaks. “And if it’s any better, I miss you too.”

There’s a glimpse of smile on Stiles’ face. “What do you miss from me anyway? You always told me to shut up. Well, with a kiss, most of the time, something I am not complaining against. Still, you can’t bear being with me. Why miss me?”

Derek lets out a breathy laugh. “Because I can’t bear being away from you more than I can’t bear hearing you constantly nagging the hell out of me.”

“So you really love me, huh?”

Stiles smiles again, a bit wider this time, and there’s a warm and fuzzy feeling in Derek’s chest. He feels happiness swelling inside him. He wishes this moment can last forever.

“Hey, let’s bake.”

“… _What?_ ”

* * *

 

“Stiles, seriously. It’s fucking  _three in the morning_  and you want to  _bake_?” Derek asks with an incredulous look. Stiles is used to the look. Derek uses that look whenever Stiles utters his ideas.

Well, most of the times Derek is right, given he’s the more rational one out of the two, but hey! His assed ideas have saved their lives in the past.

“Bullshit, you said it was three seventeen minutes ago,” Stiles replies dryly.

Derek sighs and says, “It’s not the point.”

“Hey, come on,” Stiles says again, this time more carefully. He makes sure he uses his puppy eyes; that always manages to persuade  _everyone_ , even Dad and Lydia. “I’ve been away from you for more than a month. We can’t have our usual Christmas tidbits. I just … miss doing something with you. Just this time, okay? Please?”

Derek looks like he’s contemplating hard. Eventually he heaves a sigh and says, “Okay, fine. Let’s bake.”

If the alpha had doubts before, he isn’t now. Not after seeing Stiles practically beaming with happiness and excitement. Derek smiles. He would give everything in the world to see Stiles happy. And if that means having to bake at three a.m. with your long distance boyfriend through Skype at Christmas Eve, then so be it.

“So … what do you wanna do?” Stiles asks when he reaches the kitchen. He puts his laptop on the counter, adjusting it a bit so Derek can see him clearly and vice versa.

Derek finishes adjusting his laptop’s position when he looks up, frowning. “Well, you said you wanted to bake.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Duh. I mean what do you wanna bake. Cake, muffins, cookies, brownies?”

“I’ll have whatever you want,” Derek answers simply.

Now it’s Stiles’ turn to frown. “Hey, don’t answer that. You make me feel guilty about forcing you to do this whole midnight baking thing,” he says.

“But I’m serious. I like everything you bake. Anything’s good,” Derek replies. He looks thoughtful for a while before adding quickly, “Though I actually kinda want gingerbread cookies right now.”

“That’s it!” Stiles snaps his fingers, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Right when I thought about making hot chocolate with vanilla and cinnamon. Gingerbread cookies will go hand-in-hand with that.”

“All thanks to my genius mind,” Derek says low.

Stiles sticks his tongue out. “Well thanks, Sherlock. Now, you ready or what?”

Derek found out Stiles’ talent on baking after dating him for a month. He woke up one morning to find an embarrassed Stiles sitting at the end of his bed, holding a tray of cupcakes on his hands. They turned out to be very good, and then it became well-known on the pack that Stiles is the one to call when in need of baked goods. He lately improves his skill to more complicated desserts. Derek is usually his experiment-rabbit (“It’s called taste-tester!” Stiles insists), though he doesn’t mind one bit.

“So, now you need butter, eggs, flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar—well, usual stuff. Oh, and use dark brown sugar for that. And salt, don’t forget salt. Ginger, of course, and cinnamon. And, do you have molasses? I’m sure Lydia or Allison left some. I gave them a recipe containing molasses yesterday,” Stiles instructs as he opens his cabinet, searching for the ingredients.

Fortunately, living with Stiles for four months have given Derek the ability to differentiate the ingredients of baking. He vaguely remembers Lydia telling him she stored molasses and gelatin on the refrigerator.

“So, everything’s ready?” Stiles asks again. He already has all the ingredients needed in front of him.

“Yeah,” Derek answers. He puts the last ingredient, the dark brown sugar, on the table before lifting his face.

“Do you still remember the recipe? I’m sure I’ve told you before,” Stiles mutters.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, of course I remember. You wouldn’t stop pestering me to help you make the gingerbread cookies for Lydia’s birthday,” he snickers.

“Hey, don’t be jealous, Der-bear. I’ll make you even more special cookies, okay?” Stiles winks suggestively. Derek smiles.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sourwolf,” Stiles pouts.

After bickering for a moment, the couple settles down and begins preparing for the baking part. Stiles is immediately absorbs to his work. He’s currently heating the molasses and whisking some of the ingredients together to make the dough. Derek is still mesmerized by this sight, no matter how many times he had spent just watching his lovers bake.

“If you don’t start now, you’ll never get it done, Der,” Stiles warns without lifting his face from the dough. Derek blushes after caught red-handed. Stiles grins at that.

Derek has just turned on the whisker when Stiles turns to face him and says quickly, “Hey don’t forget, don’t whisk too fast if you don’t want the dough—”

And Derek gets a bit of dough splattered on his face.

“—splattering everywhere,” Stiles finishes with a laugh. Derek glares at him. The brunette taps on his keyboard, still giggling. His eyes glint with joy and mischief before saying, “Oh, this is great. I gotta screenshot this. What should I caption it? The Baking Alpha? Yes, that’s it!”

Derek’s eyes widen. “Stiles, don’t you dare!” he glowers.

Stiles sticks his tongue. “Bite me,” he teases.

“Don’t tempt me,” Derek replies. He smirks and closes his eyes to open it again, revealing a pair of red orbs gleaming dangerously.

“Oh, I’m so scared. Please spare my life, o mighty Alpha Hale,” Stiles retorts with a mock-grin.

Derek rolls his eyes and goes back to his dough, a faint smile still on his lips. This time, he lowers the whisker’s speed. Luckily this time there isn’t any flaying dough.

“You’ll spend Christmas with salmonella if you keep doing that,” Derek warns seeing Stiles keeps pinching a glob of the dough.

“Moh dehishoos sahmonea eva,” Stiles says—at least tries to say, with his mouth stuffed with dough.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek mutters.

“And you love it,” Stiles says, winking suggestively. Derek lets out a breathy laughs.

“You’re really cute like that,” Stiles speaks again. Derek looks at his laptop monitor and sees Stiles’ finger doing something to his own monitor.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, frowning when he sees Stiles giggling. Stiles doesn’t answer, but he receives a picture message. He opens it, and there’s a screenshot of him with whipped cream on his nose. Or at least, on Stiles’ monitor which shows his nose.

“Then take this,” Derek replies, smirking as he draws something on his monitor. He figures he has to clean it up thoroughly—and cleaning whipped cream is a pain in the ass—but he really doesn’t mind. Not when he sees Stiles’ laugh after he sees the screenshot of his face with cream-made kitty ears.

They end up cleaning the monitor before it’s all covered up in cream, but the game doesn’t end there. After putting the dough in the refrigerator to let it cool, they end up playing “Never Have I Ever” with smearing their faces with cream and chocolate as the punishment.

“Never have I ever had my eyes gleaming red,” Stiles says with a smug smile. He watches in amusement as a growling Derek smears his own face with whipped cream.

Stiles sees Derek’s face scrunched up; the look when he’s thinking hard. A moment later, the werewolf looks at Stiles with a cocky grin. “Well played. But never have I ever scream my lover’s name after coming untouched while wearing a fox costume,” the older male states, his smirk widening. He still remembers that Halloween night. He and Stiles practically fucked at every flat surface on their shared apartment. They ended up sore, tired and boneless after some blissful orgasms—not that they mind.

There’s a visible pink hue on Stiles’ cheeks that’s reddening with each passing seconds. Derek sees his boyfriend mouths something like “Pervert,” and he laughs which sounds a bit like a low rumble.

Stiles pouts, but there’s a naughty glint on his eyes. He takes the chocolate syrup bottle and squeezes it above his head. The brown liquid pours slowly, making its way from Stiles’ nose to his cheeks. When the chocolate syrup reaches the side of his lips, Stiles licks it in his oral fixation-affected kind of way.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans as Stiles licks and sucks his chocolate-coated fingers. It doesn’t help that Stiles is making little moaning sounds. Derek growls;  _literally_  growls, “You’re the worst.”

Hearing that, Stiles throws his head back in a laugh. He resorts in a smile and speaks with a wink, “And you know you love it.”

Derek is about to reply when he hears a ringing sound. Stiles checks his phone and puts off the alarm. His smile widens a little.

“Good news,” the brunette beams. “Time to take the dough, buddy.”

So Derek stands up and takes his cookie dough out of the refrigerator. He studies it, sometimes tapping it with his fingers.

“I think it’s stiff enough to be rolled,” Stiles informs, as if knowing what Derek has in mind.

Derek lets the words sink in before frowning. “What do you mean, rolled?”

“Ah, forgot to tell you. I actually want to make gingerbread house. Not a big one, just enough for me, Tim, Jake and Al,” Stiles explains.

“Your roommates?”

“No, the members of the US Congress. Of course my roommates!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Smartass.”

“Sourwolf,” Stiles retorts.

As expected, the entire dough-shaping process is filled with their bickering. After Derek grows tired of finding ways to repay his boyfriend’s witty remarks, he settles with listening Stiles talk. Like usual, when Stiles talk, he can never stop. He talks about everything. His professor, his roommates, his activities on weekends, how he  _despises_  summer in Australia (“Derek, I swear to God, I can literally feel my skin melting off my bones!” Stiles complains loudly), and even such obnoxious topic like the current economy state of the US.

“I mean, who in their right mind would invest something— _anything_ , in times like this? I really wish the government would focus on more real problems like our economy rather than stuffing up their own ass!” Stiles rambles with his hands unconsciously rolling out the dough, forming the roof of the house.

Derek looks up from his own job of cutting his dough with a man-shaped mold. “They probably looked up to me, you know, stuffing your ass,” he sneers.

Stiles shoots his lover an unimpressed look. “Wow, look at that, the one and only Derek Hale making jokes.”

Derek shrugs. “You never seem to hate it, judging by what you’re screaming when we’re in bed,” he replies, smirking haughtily.

Now it’s Stiles’ time to roll his eyes. He goes back to his gingerbread house without saying anything else. Derek focuses back to his own cookies, and he feels joy spreading inside him when he sees them.

A minute of blissful silence immediately turns awkward. Being together with Stiles for a year or so has given Derek the habit of listening intently to the brunette’s voice all the time. He’s so accustomed by Stiles’ ramblings and rants that he knows there’s something wrong whenever he’s quiet.

Luckily, Stiles seems to catch the drift too, and he begins talking again. This time he talks about his friends who are also on the same student exchange program.

“I met Sam on the second day of college here. He’s from Stanford. He’s really nice. He’s tall and handsome, too. Deadly combination, I gotta tell you. And Sam is very sweet, I was shocked when I found out he’s a hunter,” Stiles says.

“Hunter?” Derek frowns. He doesn’t really like this Sam guy.

“Yeah. Him and his brother. They’re more like all-supernatural-things hunters than werewolf hunters. He said it’s, uh, family business. When he found out that I’m a member of a werewolf pack, he was as shocked as me. We then had a lengthy discussion about supernatural worlds. I told him some werewolf facts—courtesy to my experience with a freaking actual werewolf pack—and he explained a lot about supernatural creatures. And that time I realized even my crazy life isn’t the most insane of all!

Can you believe he’s met an actual, real life angel!? I mean, not just met, but he said his brother ‘shared a profound bond’ with said angel. But I think it’s just his way of saying his brother and the angel are boning each other,” Stiles tells. He stops his hands for a while to sigh and smile. “My point is, Sam is really nice. He’s my best friend here, and I like talking to him.”

“He’s a hunter. He could be just befriending you for his own benefits,” Derek scowls.

Stiles looks up and stares at Derek. He laughs. “Dude, chill. I can fend for myself, okay? And I’m not some naïve protagonist on a chick-flick movie. I know when someone is toying around with me,” he replies with his brows slightly furrowed.

“Still, gotta be careful,” Derek insists, still scowling. He glares at his cookies as if they’re the cause of the entire crisis in the world.

“Wait,” Stiles laughs again, his expression bewildered and amused. “You’re  _jealous_  of Sam?”

“No,” Derek seethes in a poorly disguised anger. Stiles forces back a hysterical laugh. That isn’t in the least bit convincing.

“Aren’t you adorable when you’re angry,” Stiles teases. He has stopped working altogether and now is only staring at his lover in amusement. “Hey, no need to worry, dude. Sam is very much caught up with his girlfriend. Even you, the mighty sex god, wouldn’t be able to make him budge.”

Derek stops working too. He faces his lover with a look of uncertainty. Stiles tips back his head and laughs again.

“Besides, Derek, not even in my wildest dreams has I ever thought of leaving you. I just … love you too much, okay?” Stiles finishes with a bright smile.

Derek stares at Stiles, his eyes dead set on his lover’s face, before he nods and replies, “I know.”

Stiles pouts. “And?”

“And what? What do you expect me to say?” Derek replies, not bothering to hide the smug smirk. Ah, sweet, sweet revenge.

“Jerk,” Stiles mumbles.

It’s Derek now who’s laughing. He stops before Stiles gets angry, though. He doesn’t want to push his luck. Now the alpha smiles at his boyfriend, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“I love you too, you know.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look up, but he’s smiling. Seeing his eyes crinkle with that happy smile, Derek knows Stiles is satisfied with that answer.

It isn’t long until Stiles starts talking again, and right now Derek stays silent, just doing his work with his dough while enjoying his boyfriend’s voice. He hums sometimes when he agrees with something Stiles is saying.

“What’s the temperature again?” Derek asks when he’s finished shaping all his cookies and lining them on a tray.

“475, and don’t put it too long. You can use the time to make the frosting, by the way,” Stiles answers. He’s still cutting little squares on his front wall that’s going to be windows. He once told Derek the cake would taste better when it is cut while still in dough, but Derek can’t really tell the difference.

“I got the frosting done. Erica still has it after that baking attempt last week,” Derek replies as he takes some sugar frostings from the refrigerator.

“Lucky you. Well then put the cookies on the oven now. The frosting will melt well enough in room temperature. Though maybe put it somewhere warmer, I bet it’s pretty cold there,” Stiles instructs. Derek obeys, since his boyfriend is the patisserie-wannabe here.

After putting his cookie tray on the oven and heating it to 475 degrees, Derek sits on the dining chair. He’s a bit worn. While waiting for his cookies to cook and frosting to melt, the alpha decides to kill time by watching his boyfriend work.

Stiles looks so absorbed on his work. His eyes are set on the dough as he carefully cuts another square on it. Derek notices that Stiles always seems to do something with his mouth, like licking his lips or chewing it unintentionally. The alpha knows it’s because of the oral fixation he has. Like right now, Stiles is biting his lower lip; Derek has learnt that it’s a habit Stiles picks whenever he’s concentrating on something.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Derek says softly with a small smile.

Stiles doesn’t answer, but the occurring smile and blush tells everything. He’s finally finished cutting the dough and is now arranging the shapes. The brunette doesn’t seem to be troubled by it. By ten minutes of comforting silence, he’s already put his tray on the oven.

Derek has only admired the joyful grin on Stiles’ face for a mere moment before his oven beeps. He stands from his seat, wears his oven glove and takes out the cookies.

“I can almost smell those cookies here,” Stiles teases when he sees the wonderful gingerbread cookies made by Derek.

“Do your frosting. My cookies are shy; they don’t like being stared at,” Derek teases back.

“Meanie,” Stiles pouts again, but he complies. He already has the ingredients to make sugar frosting ready on his kitchen table.

Derek lets his cookies cool down before frosting them, and he takes advantage of the time to watch Stiles working again. This time, they throw jokes at each other because Stiles doesn’t need much concentration to make frosting. He does it as naturally as he breathes. They stop when Stiles has to go get his gingerbread house out of the oven.

“Perfect!” Stiles exclaims joyfully. He closes his eyes and scents the cake, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

Suddenly there’s a creaking sound enacting from Stiles’ place. His grin is quickly replaced by a wary expression. He and Derek stay very still. Five seconds later, there’s the sound again.

Stiles takes a broom from the corner of the kitchen. Derek makes sure to type a message quickly and sends it to Stiles. Luckily the brunette has muted his laptop.

_face your laptop to you in case i can see the intruders face_

Stiles nods after reading it. He carefully picks up the laptop and positions it on the living room. The boy makes sure the webcam captures at the right angles before tiptoeing to the front door.

It’s dark outside as it’s already midnight. Stiles looks around to search for any suspicious movement, but finds none. He heaves a sigh, bracing himself, and opens the door with a powerful force. The brunette already expects a bunch of thugs charging at him with guns in hand and—

“Merry Christmas!”

Stiles stands still, shocked.

“ _What_.”

He hasn’t recovered from his initial shock, and then comes another.

There’s snow falling.

On December.

In Australia.

_What the fuck?_

“What the fuck?” Stiles can only say that. He looks around and sees his roommates, Tim and Al, holding a Christmas wreath and a gift while wearing Santa’s hat. He looks up and sees Jake pouring snow from the third floor.

“You said you like snow and you don’t want to miss white Christmas. This isn’t much, but I figure we could do this as a thank you for that cake,” Tim explains, grinning happily.

Stiles closes his mouth and calms his racing heart. Then he drops the broom and hugs his roommates. There are definitely some manly tears shed there.

“Guys, I-I don’t know what to say,” Stiles laughs shakily. “Just, wow. Thanks. Thanks a lot, really.”

Al pats Stiles’ shoulder. “You should thank that boyfriend of yours, mate. He’s a keeper, alright. Don’t let him go,” he says.

“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns.

“Your boyfriend asked us to do this. He said he didn’t want you to be all grumpy and sad for missing Christmas with him. We don’t mind, actually. It’s actually fun, making snow and all,” Tim explains.

“And to get cake as a payback? Fuck yea,” Jake adds from the third floor. He’s still pouring the snow. They seem to make quite a lot of it.

Tim takes out his tablet, and there’s Derek on the monitor. Seeing his boyfriend’s smug grin, Stiles sends him the most blinding smile ever. He has this sudden urge to cuddle with his dear alpha.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the nicest, most gorgeous person in the whole world and I love you so much it hurts?” Stiles asks. His cheeks start to hurt because of the grin, but he doesn’t want to stop.

“Yes, a million times already,” Derek laughs. “Merry Christmas, Stiles.”

* * *

 

The moment Stiles sets his feet on California’s land, he immediately searches for Derek. When he sees his boyfriend, he immediately runs there. He doesn’t care he’s in the middle of a busy airport. Derek welcomes him with stretched arms. Stiles hugs him and they spin around as Derek lifts him off the ground. When Stiles’ feet touch the floor again, he looks up at Derek and touches his forehead with Derek’s.

Derek’s fingers cup Stiles’ face as he brings him into a sweet, loving kiss. The brunette makes a humming sound on the back of his throat. He slings his arms around the alpha’s neck as he shifts his body closer to his boyfriend. His fingers are now finding comfort in threading Derek’s black hair.

The one to back down is Derek. He opens his eyes and smiles before kissing Stiles again. His hands are now settled on the smaller man’s hips. His lips hover over his boyfriend’s lips and jaws.

“I miss you,” Derek murmurs before giving another light kiss on Stiles’ soft lips.

Stiles laughs breathily. “Me too,” he murmurs back. He then buries his head on the crook of Derek’s neck. “Then let me make it up to you.”

Derek kisses Stiles again. The brunette smiles between the kisses and he tightens his hug. He’s happy to be here, beside Derek again, and he knows Derek feels the same.

Outside, the snow is falling again.


End file.
